


Need or Want

by TeamBaconBits



Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One), Transformers - All Media Types
Genre: Gen, M/M, Past Relationship(s)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-07
Updated: 2014-08-07
Packaged: 2018-02-12 06:14:02
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 795
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2098659
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TeamBaconBits/pseuds/TeamBaconBits
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Getaway needs to figure things out.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Need or Want

**Author's Note:**

> Not the first fic I've written, but the first to finish and not collect dust. Un-betaed. May go back and tweek a few lines. Helpful critiques welcome.  
> Also I own none of these characters.

A steady roar of noise filled Swerve’s bar as every seat was filled, some with more than one mech as they all try to cram in for long overdue drinks. The unease of the former prisoners is obvious, likely why so many have come here in the first place. 

Just from quick glance around the room, some still shaking, others are wound so tight they snap at the lightest of brushes of shoulders. All but a few he doesn’t recognize, but they all hold a connection with him. They were all prisoners of Tryest, demented hole riddled piece of slag. All subjected to all sorts of different torments, many having to watch those around them beat to scrap or dragged away to the smelter. All of them needing to unwind, and many wanting to forget. 

Getaway sat at the tightly packed bar nursing a second glass of high-grade contemplating what he needed to do. He came here hoping for something. Preferably an answer; is it crazy to think it would magically appear in the bottom of one of these glasses? 

His optics slid towards the end of the bar where the little red bartender was hastily whipping up concocted energon at a surprisingly fast and if you could call it, graceful pace, to just beyond him. 

Skids. 

His amnesiac partner, correction, former partner, maybe. Getaway didn’t even know what to do with himself at this point let alone Skids. They failed their mission, and both have suffered for it. Maybe himself more than Skids, but he didn’t know for sure. He’s been too scared to ask, not sure if it’s because of the answer, or the possibility of getting told to frag off. Not sure what would hurt more.

Skids, appears for the most part to have carved himself out a new life aboard the Lost Light. Aside from trying to be friendly to his…comrade? Whatever he may be, it’s not the same anymore, and it will never be again. Any chance of that had been blasted to oblivion by a small blip of a bullet. How can he trust someone he doesn’t even remember?

Idiots. Both of them. Prowl would fully concur with the assessment and probably would have had a whole lecture for them if they had made it back. Getting involved with your partner during a mission; what were they thinking? 

Memories of cold nights huddled together, fingers fluttering softly just under plating, fleeting kisses that desired to be so much more, yet always felt like final goodbyes when it was time for one of them to scout out new vantage points. These are the last of their memories, locked in his brain module. Once those are gone, that’s it. It’ll be like it never happened.  
Fingers tighten around the fragile glass. ‘Is that what I want? To erase those moments that held so much hope for a happy future? That pushed us on better then orders from a tight aft mech that’s slowly going off the deep end?’

‘hmm.’ Getaway soft hums into his glass as his drains the last of it. Slowly turning it; watching as it distorts his face in its reflection. Staring at the warped image, he puts the glass down and stands.  
As he turns a hand catches his shoulder and is surprised to see Skids had come around the bar without him noticing. 

“Are you alright Getaway? Looked like you were a bit down,” Skids tilts his head down to look level at Getaway. “Need to talk about it?” lips quirk up a little in a friendly matter.

Getaway’s spark clenches a bit; a splinter of impossible hope.

“I think I’ll be alright, just needed to sort things out a bit,” shrugging his free shoulder.

Skids snorts in disbelief, “at the bar? This is a place where one usually comes to not think.”

“That was the point, to figure out if that’s what I really wanted…” he trails off. Skids furrows his brow and leans in closer.

“Getaway. Are you alright?” voice firm, wanting a firm answer.

Shaking his head, “No, but I’m working on it,” pausing for a moment. “I just needed to decide something, and now that I have, I can start to figure out what I need to do and what I want to do.”

“And that would be…?”

I smile at him even though my mask covers it, he sees it. Always has. I know that deep down in Skids’ spark he will always be him, if he remembers or not.

“To not give up and move forward.”

Skids brow quirks, “Is that more of need or want?” 

I reach up and grasp the hand still resting on my shoulder giving it a squeeze.

“That’s what I’m trying to figure out.”


End file.
